


Color Theory

by Anonymous



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Thrawn Series - Timothy Zahn (2017)
Genre: Consent Issues, Dubious Consent, Hand Jobs, M/M, One-Sided Sex Pollen, Open to Interpretation, Potential Betrayal of Trust, Sex Pollen, non-POV character motivation left open to interpretation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-12 22:56:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17476541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: While walking through a field of strange plants, Eli has what he considers a very unexpected reaction. Thrawn appears more than willing to help him deal with it.





	Color Theory

**Author's Note:**

> This ended up as a discarded fill for FFA's Post 1000 Prompt and Fill Fest.
> 
> I thought it would be interesting to write something that may or may not involve a betrayal of trust, depending on how readers choose to interpret the non-POV character's words and actions, from the viewpoint of a character that has the kind of trust Eli does in Thrawn.

The landing is so smooth that Eli almost wouldn't know all of the escape pod's electronic functions have been knocked out. Thrawn is at the controls, he has been since he'd pushed Eli in and backed in himself then proceeded to demonstrate yet another fascinating skill that Eli would never have expected of him. He opens his mouth to ask where Thrawn learned to fly manual, because that's certainly not part of the training they received at Royal Imperial, before remembering that the Imperial Academy is hardly the only military training the Chiss has completed. 

He sighs instead, feeling the adrenaline start to fade from his system. He'd watched fields pass underneath them through the viewport back when he'd been quietly rejoicing that they weren't going to slam into the ground at a velocity that would either break his neck or pierce them so far under the planet's soil that they'd be buried until someone from the city came out to investigate the crash. That city is a long walk away now, and with electronic communications down it will be a walk.

"They sabotaged the escape pod," he says instead. He can hear the shake in his voice.

"Yes," Thrawn responds, in a tone that Eli has come to interpret as meaning that a perfectly valid observation has been made but could be expanded on if one wanted to share anything less self-evident.

"Do you think they were all sabotaged, or did we just end up in the worst one?"

"They were all fitted with some form of trap. There must be an override code to avoid triggering it, but as the specific code was unknown, tripping electrical shutdown was the best strategy."

Thrawn goes on to explain how he had known to anticipate the sabotage – his study of the locals' art had revealed patterns of jagged lines and broken circles, which apparently indicate a propensity for that if found in the context of larger illustrations. By the time the explanation is over, Eli's breath has had the chance to even out and his hands no longer jitter. He thinks he's come to know the Chiss well enough to see subtle signs of him calming too, but he'll probably never be able to read him well enough to say for certain.

"If they're so prone to traps, will the emergency supplies be safe?"

Thrawn nods in acknowledgment. "I will examine them for signs of tampering."

There's a medkit where Eli expects to find it, but the emergency supplies of drink and ration bars that escape pods of this make ought to have are missing. That's probably because the raiders haven't been keeping up to regulation standards, rather than a further form of sabotage. The raiders are locals who've been plaguing their own in increasingly destructive ways since the latest governor took control of the planet. They claim delusions of rebellion, but stealing food and destroying tech meant to supply and protect your own people is hardly an effective tactic for independence. 

Eli opens the medkit to inspect it himself. It's not well stocked, but everything appears properly sealed at a cursory glance. He passes it over to Thrawn, who makes no comment on further inspection but, rather than handing it back, straps it on himself.

"I take it we're walking back to the city?" Eli moves to the exit hatch.

"That would appear to be the best of our options. A recovery party is no doubt being sent for us, but we can move more efficiently through the fields than they will around them."

Eli hums with acknowledgment, "I've seen the type of speeders the locals are using here before too. They're not much faster than walking." He frowns. "Not on this terrain anyway." They'd be considered unusable antiques on Coruscant, but on planets like this the locals know the value of keeping their tech repaired and appreciate what's built to last, or most of them do anyway. 

He hops out ahead of Thrawn. It's technically not a breach of command protocol because he is scanning the area for threats. "You coming?" He asks as the Chiss stares out over fields of tall, entirely yellow plants that rustle lightly in the wind. That, very technically, is a breach of command protocol, but Thrawn doesn't tend to care. Eli feels like there's something in the breeze, something energizing that makes him want to move. He knows it's just the remnants of adrenaline and the taste of the air here, still almost entirely free from the weight of pollution, but he hopes he can keep the feeling as they set out.

The spike-topped stalks are as tall as him, branching along their length into pods that hang down with the appearance of heavy weight. When he reaches out to touch one it sways with his tap to it. It feels hard, but not so sturdy that he couldn't crush it in a hand if he wanted to.

"They are Yndos" the Chiss comments from over his shoulder. "Aside from their nutritive properties, they are the source of a pigment used to create a yellow paint upon which these people place great meaning." He starts into the field, stepping between rows of stalks. Eli takes just a moment to envy Thrawn's height, which must let him see clearly across the landscape. 

"This particular pigment," Thrawn continues as Eli follows in his wake, "has an association with fruitful unions. It appears as the predominant color in works created to celebrate mergers between ruling powers and between businesses, as well as in the dye of traditional marriage garments."

Eli absorbs what he can and asks questions when he notices openings. They make good time between Thrawn's long strides and his own quick pace. Along the way he learns about when the locals, who refer to themselves as Qritari, gift art – most relevantly when a reign (such as that the locals perceive the planetary governor of leading) begins and in retrospective after one ends – and what that indicates about the Qritari mindset – a perspective featuring both foresight and reflection, quick to pick up patterns but, according to Thrawn's analysis, extremely vulnerable to reaching incorrect conclusions.

Thrawn tells him of one young ruler who'd been gifted at his coronation with a painting that used another source of yellow pigment. In slightly less than three planetary cycles, he'd been violently deposed.

"Knowing all of this," Thrawn asks him, "what would you conclude from the painting gifted to the new governor?"

He tries to remember what it had looked like. He hasn't seen the work in person, but he'd certainly seen the holos. He doubts he'd be able to notice a difference in two pigments producing almost identical colors even if he'd been looking for it, so that must not be what Thrawn is prompting him for.

"Wasn't that painting very orange?"

"Yes." Eli lets the soft approval in Thrawn's voice wash over him. "Well noticed."

Eli searches for a moment for a reply, but one isn't really needed. He feels distracted, like his attention is being pulled in all directions, but the praise does warm him even as his first response is to deflect. Yes, he noticed the painting was primarily orange; he has eyes. It's not an accomplishment. 

"What do you imagine the combination with red indicates?" 

"Impending violent deposition?"

He catches Thrawn's glance back and the upward curve of Thrawn's lips before the Chiss continues. "The people here are not entirely supportive of their new governor. The feeling is widespread amongst the populace, and they believe they've given fair warning of what will happen if their concerns are ignored."

Eli considers for a moment. "And that's why you didn't want to wait for a recovery team."

"In part. Given what we know of the Qritari, we may assume that the populace, at least in part, is not entirely opposed to their conduct. It is not unlikely that they have sympathizers working directly for Governor Ingran. These sympathizers will alert the raiders to the fact that we are unaccounted for. The raiders will assume that we have vanished in order to set our own traps; they will remain hypervigilant even after we reappear, attempting to determine what occurred while we were missing. It should not take long for paranoia to get the better of them. I hope to provoke a confrontation that will expose those in Governor Ingran's service who wish her ill."

"And then confront the raiders again?"

Thrawn glances back at him. "We learned much in our last encounter."

It's true. Eli has a record of the ship's logs copied in his pocket, and that should offer enough for them to round up the active raiders themselves – as long as they get back in time to analyze and act on the information before the raiders can respond to its theft.

"They'll be able to tell that we entered the field," he says. Thrawn's plan might not be so effective if the Qritari can determine exactly where they've spent their time.

"Perhaps."

"I'm pretty sure. I haven't been doing anything to cover our tracks."

"They will not look to see whether we have entered the field; it does not fit the patterns they follow." He lifts a hand to run a finger along one of the pods. "The locals are superstitious; they will not enter these fields themselves in the final days before the plants are ready for harvest."

"So even if they do figure out we've come in here, they won't follow."

"Even if they were to conceive of the possibility, they would not follow."

There's a question at the edge of his tongue, but he can't think it through quite well enough to put it to voice, not even in his own mind. He feels even more hyperalert than he did when they started out, but there's a creeping irritation to it now. His skin feels tight and oversensitive; he's strangely aware of the weave of his uniform and the flutter of the breeze against his skin. 

He notices that their pace has started to slow. He's not sure if he's matching Thrawn, or if Thrawn has noticed him falling back and is matching him. 

"Your observation regarding speed was also relevant," Thrawn notes, voice carrying though he doesn't look back at Eli. Eli checks his stride, taking the comment as an indication that they should return to their previous pace, but he only ends up crowding on Thrawn's heels.

He's warm, despite the breeze. They haven't at any point been walking fast enough for it to be considered exertion, but he can feel his heart beating quickly.

"It is essential that we share and act upon the information we have gathered swiftly," Thrawn continues. It feels like ages have passed since the last statement, but when Eli considers it, it can't have been more time than needed for a breath or two.

He is breathing too quickly.

"Yes, before they can relocate." His own voice comes out too slow, or perhaps he's just perceiving it that way. 

"Though that will likely take them some time. We are well on track." Thrawn sounds confident; the familiar tone normally soothes Eli, but right now it makes something he doesn't want to examine too closely pulse.

He hasn't been poisoned. He hadn't scratched himself on anything in the escape pod or the raiders' ship. He hasn't suffered any sort of injury recently. He can think of no reason he should be feeling so strange. Perhaps he's having a reaction to something in the air; he doesn't normally have such sensitivities, but it's possible. They are in a field after all, if there were ever a place to trigger an allergen response, this is it.

"There were stimulants in the medkit, right?" he gives in and asks. He doesn't want to embarrass himself with a fuss over nothing, but if this is something it's best to note it early. "I think I might be having a reaction."

"Ah," Thrawn says, and stops walking.

Eli immediately runs into him, which serves neither of them well. He actually feels himself lean into the contact for a fraction of a moment before stumbling back, an apology on his lips that Thrawn interrupts as he turns to face Eli. 

"You are flushed," he says. Then Eli watches in silent bafflement as Thrawn reaches out to cup the side of his face. 

Eli turns his face to Thrawn's palm. It's surprise, it can only be that, the movement an instinctual check of what exactly the hand is doing there. The edge of his lips brush skin before Thrawn withdraws, then feel the loss of the contact far more sharply than Eli would have expected.

"And warm," there's something in his tone, something Eli can't place. It's infuriating because he knows that the only reason he can't place it is because whatever this is isn't letting him think. Not that it matters. He trusts at least that if something has gone wrong, Thrawn is more than capable of thinking for the both of them.

"There's nothing in the supplies that would help with this." Thrawn stares at him, glowing red eyes bright.

Eli wants to swear, but holds it back. "Well, at least I don't think I'll stop breathing any time soon." He grits his teeth against the bitterness of inadequacy, "You should go ahead. I'm already slowing you down."

"I have no intention of leaving your side."

"It would be kind of hard to get lost. I think I can follow the row."

"I have no doubt that's true." He continues staring. Eli should be used to it by now, but sometimes the otherness of the Chiss's gaze still strikes him.

"Our situation is not so dire. If you fall behind, I will provide assistance."

Eli breathes deep. He's feeling strange, yes, but he can still walk in a line. The rows of stalks are there to guide him after all. And he has no reason to believe this feeling won't pass soon; it could be over as quickly as it came on.

"Alright. Let's hope it doesn't come to that."

"We shall see," Thrawn returns, then turns back along their path.

Eli shakes his head at Thrawn's back, but he does feel the slightest bit comforted at his sentiment. Or at least what he allows himself to interpret as such. Thrawn's motivations are, as ever, his own, but it's nice to be told that he hasn't been drawn all the way out here to be abandoned in the fields of some strange planet.

He continues to follow in Thrawn's wake. 

Thrawn was right, of course, whatever his problem is, it's not preventing them from moving on. If he is slowing them down then he'd be slower on his own, and if this does turn into something that needs medical attention he'll be glad that they've kept the pace they have and are that much closer to the city and its resources. 

The hypersensitivity is similar enough to arousal that it's almost not a shock when he starts to get hard. Embarrassing and highly uncomfortable, yes, but it slots in all but naturally with his other symptoms. 

The cut of his uniform allows for some adjustment, so he does what he can with that. He tenses his muscles as he steps along and thinks of things that usually make the problem go away, but none of them help.

If anything, it only gets worse as time passes.

Something tickles again at the edge of his mind, beyond his ability to focus. He looks at Thrawn's back as he walks, then quickly looks away. His mind is twisting everything, and there are some things he won't allow himself to think of.

But there was something, and it had to do with something Thrawn said. It hits him like a blow. He might gasp with it, but his every inhalation sounds loud enough in his skull that it wouldn't stand out if he had.

"Fruitful unions," Eli's voice is so loud that he jumps at the sound of it; he hadn't intended to speak aloud at all. "Why 'fruitful unions'? Where did that association come from?"

Thrawn responds calmly, as though Eli hasn't just shouted suddenly from behind him. As though his sensitive ears haven't picked up any changes in Eli's breathing or pace over the last minutes. 

"The Qritari have a long and rich mythological history in which Yndos features heavily. One may assume the myths were influenced by observations of several varieties of mammals they class as pests entering mating frenzies in fields of Yndos during its final stage of ripening." He turns suddenly enough that if Eli had still been following quite so closely they would have crashed together again. "The Qritari brought the grain with them when their civilization expanded to this continent, but took measures to ensure the pests would not follow. We need not be concerned about encountering any of them."

Eli gives up on the pretense of concealing his situation. Thrawn must be aware of it by now, even if he's made the choice not to mention it himself. Eli stands as straight as he can bear and clenches his fists at his sides.

"Good to know. I'd hate to scandalize any of the local pests." He inhales, trying to calm his building fury, but it's riding on embarrassment and that's not about to decrease any time soon. "It's something to do with the plants. It doesn't just affect small mammals."

"I had noticed." Thrawn's tone holds just a hint of dryness. Eli can't help himself; he looks Thrawn over. He knows what Thrawn looks like in other states of exertion, and he shows no signs even of that. He certainly shows no sign of arousal like Eli's. So the tone strikes him as just on the edge of amused. By the time he meets Thrawn's eyes again, Eli is glaring hard enough that if it were possible to wound with a look he would be striking Thrawn down.

"Why-" he really is having difficulty pulling his thoughts together, even more so now with Thrawn gazing at him, "Why would you bring me in here if you knew this could happen?"

"I did not know it would affect you in this way." Thrawn's tone is, again, calm and measured.

_Did you suspect?_ the words curl at the back of his throat but the question never makes it into the air. Of course he didn't. 

Eli is only thinking to ask it because of his own humiliation, but it's a question he wouldn't be able to take back. It might embarrass Thrawn for a moment, but the memory of implying as much would haunt Eli forever.

Not that Eli's memories aren't going to be haunted whatever he does or says.

"The collected information on this planet provided by the Empire features no reports of humans or other sapient beings having this reaction. Am I wrong in assuming that any such incidents would be highlighted?"

"No," he says in immediate acquiescence, then changes his answer to, "Maybe." Maybe this has happened before, maybe other officers have had experiences embarrassing enough that they decided to leave them out of their reports. Maybe superior officers have refused to forward reports that must have sounded ridiculous. Maybe no one's bothered to come out to the fields; why would they? There's a decent enough chance that he's the only human who's been in or near a field long enough to suffer the full effects of the Yndos.

Of course Thrawn had no idea Eli would react like this. He knows a lot more about the plants than Eli would have expected any of the Empire's reports to contain, but that's not so unusual; once he'd discovered the link with the pigment he must have researched it on his own, but that would only tell him so much if their effect on humans isn't widely known. He can't be blamed for acting without considering information he didn't have access to; he never would have guided Eli in here if he'd known.

"I understand that you are uncomfortable. As we have missed the opportunity for avoiding discomfort, surely our clearest path forward must involve alleviating that discomfort."

He freezes for a moment with shock, because even in this situation there's something very surreal about having his commanding officer tell him to go jerk off.

Then he feels his face heat, because his mind really is twisting things. "Sedatives? Yes, alright." He had definitely seen some of those in the medkit. Honestly, even if something had been done to them he'd take them right now.

"That would be counterproductive."

"How?" His voice is unsteady even on a single syllable.

"Alleviating your arousal won't be the only effect. Your walking speed will slow further under sedation. The desired effects of the sedatives we have on hand will then wear off long before you've traveled far enough to escape continued exposure to these plants."

"Then what should I do?"

"I did not offer my assistance earlier with the intent to withdraw the offer should you need it." Thrawn takes a step toward Eli.

Eli doesn't respond. Outside of his arousal he is just aware enough to know that what he thinks Thrawn offered is absolutely not what he just offered, but he can't think of any other interpretation. 

"What are you doing?" His silence breaks once Thrawn can come no closer. He's surprised he could get the words out, and more surprised that they were so neutral.

"Assisting you."

Eli watches his hand, still not entirely believing, as Thrawn reaches out and brushes the back of his knuckles against the bulge of Eli's erection. It's not something he can misinterpret.

He hears himself gasp and feels his jerk into the contact. This is not right, not possible.

"I can deal with it myself." He hears the words as though he'd spoken in a dream, but he's intimately aware of every movement of lip and tongue it took to speak them.

"I know that you can. You do not have to."

There's a cautious part of him warning that he should hold back, that this isn't what he wants – that this isn't wise – and that he should measure whatever response he gives rationally.

But there's another part of him so swamped with arousal that literally any proposal he heard would sound like an excellent idea. He could be convinced to do anything right now, and he almost wishes that the headiness of that would overwhelm him enough that caution wouldn't even remain an annoying passenger. 

"This is," he tries to smother any other sound he might make when Thrawn's hand returns to touch him with even more obvious intent. "Military protocol," he's not sure whether he's ending a sentence that lost words along the way or starting a new one. Touch and higher thought are incompatible. 

"I am not overly concerned with the Empire's protocol."

He wants to say something about that. He normally would. But the words don't order themselves. None of this is right, but the most important thing right now – the only important thing – is that there's a hand on his dick and it feels painfully good.

"There are reasons," he says weakly. He hears it as more of a protest to himself than an argument to dissuade Thrawn. What he needs now is not to persuade Thrawn to stop, but to convince himself that this is fine.

"Are they so important that you remember them?"

_They will be_ the protesting voice at the back of Eli's consciousness warns before giving out. They will be, but they aren't. 

"I do not wish for you to be uncomfortable," Thrawn's tone is almost soothing. He withdraws his hand, and Eli has to use all of his remaining restraint to keep from grabbing it and forcing it back on him. There's no way Thrawn could overlook his aborted movement. 

"Turn around," Thrawn commands, and Eli obeys unthinkingly. "You may find it easier like this. Allow yourself to imagine whomever you wish."

Would that make this easier? Not likely. And he doesn't think he'll ever be able to mistake Thrawn for anyone but Thrawn.

But it serves a purpose. _Distance_ , _deniability_ , he's not quite sure how they're going to factor into _later_ , but he's aware that they're important.

He stares back along their path, intently aware of Thrawn's presence behind him. The moment stretches on, drawn out by the agony of lost contact.

He hears Thrawn shift, but still shivers as the Chiss puts his hands on him again. He is too aware and sensitive to be anything but entirely open with his reactions. 

An arm curls around his abdomen. It's too possessive a gesture – one that even now he knows he would hate if he were in his right mind. One that makes him feel like the nasty comments are true, like he is a pet, carted around and positioned to be displayed like a possession.

Thrawn doesn't think of him that way. He _knows_ Thrawn doesn't think of him that way. He trusts in that now, after all they've been through. But sometimes the comments still make him second-guess himself and his status. He knows better than to let it get to him, but that doesn't always keep the words and unspoken implications from lingering like a foul smell.

And now some of the even nastier rumors, the ones he's suspected but never had anyone foolish enough to do more than obliquely imply to his face, will have more than a hint of truth to them.

It's important, but not important enough that he does anything more than lift up the hem of his top and unfasten his trousers before grabbing at Thrawn's hand to pull it lower. The other rests on his hip, not nearly so possessive.

Given the impetus, Thrawn doesn't hesitate. It's yet another reason Eli would never be able to mistake him for anyone else. 

His hand surges under fabric Eli hasn't lowered, and Eli doesn't even try to stifle the sound he makes at contact with skin. The pleasure carries a relief even greater than he'd known he'd needed, and that's only helped along by the way Thrawn cups his hand along him and pulls him free from the worst of the press of his uniform.

He's breathing so quickly his face is starting to numb. He knows he won't last long, but can't even grasp enough fear of embarrassment from that to use as a deterrent. These aren't normal circumstances, and the faster the better, probably, even if there's a part of him that wants to draw the moment out into an eternity.

The hand on his hip moves further around his back before sliding under his waistband and starting to push his trousers down.

He makes a noise of distress, or as close as he can get to one in this state, and brings his own hands to each side of his waistband, pulling it up.

He is not taking his clothes off in a field. That is the line. That's where it's being drawn.

He may not have enough restraint to avoid twitching into his commanding officer's hand, but he can exert enough control to remain mostly clothed. He wants the touch, he wants it there, he wants it everywhere, but a hand slipped under clothes seems so very different from being overtly bared.

He knows that if Thrawn persists, presents any reason, he'll give in even on this. He doesn't know what to expect, but he knows that he'll need to remember how his denial is responded to so that he can reflect on it later, even though he can't think now of what he'll learn from it. Thrawn has impressed upon him the importance of such reflections over the years; it's almost second nature now.

Thrawn responds to his distress, though Eli can't be sure the Chiss has interpreted the source of it accurately. He keeps the hand under Eli's clothes, but moves it again, over his hip and forward to join the other. His movement still pushes clothing downward, but not forcefully enough to pull it from Eli's hands.

The Chiss leans in further toward Eli, shifting just that little bit closer. He presses his own body up against Eli's back, but twists his hips just enough that – if not for the hands on his dick – their position would almost be appropriate. 

The one hand keeps moving along him, twisting loosely at his head before plunging down again. The other explores further, nestling under his clothes to cup at his testicles. 

He feels like he's being weighed, like some racing beast to be sold for stud.

"I'm not a pet," he says. The words come slowly, formed out of arduous thought, inadequate to what he wants to express but as much as he can manage.

"You neglected to mention any stories implying Chiss do this with pets." Eli can hear the amusement in Thrawn's voice. It's infuriating.

He doesn't have the wherewithal to voice his objection, but he won't stand for it. He leans his head forward slightly before slamming it back against Thrawn's shoulder hard enough to make a point.

"I apologize. I do not think of you as a pet."

Pathetically enough, Eli actually feels himself relax at the assurance.

He lets himself lean back against Thrawn. Contact feels good everywhere along his body, and what Thrawn's hands are doing is almost enough to make his knees buckle.

He hears a sound that crosses the line from shuddering breath into whine, and clenches his teeth to stop it. It doesn't do enough good. He searches for something, anything, to say to keep his mouth occupied, and before he can catch himself he's voicing the unacknowledgable question that had been floating at the back of his mind.

"Are you," he almost chokes on a gasp before he can get the question out, "affected?"

"These plants do not have the same influence on me that they do on you," Thrawn replies. There's something in his tone again, not quite normal, too unfamiliar for Eli to easily identify it.

He wants to clarify that that wasn't exactly what he had asked. In the haze of arousal he almost lifts his own hand and reaches back to check. He catches himself in time to play the movement off as a release and awkward regrasping of his waistband and hem. Groping his commanding officer – groping Thrawn – is not something he's entitled to do, no matter what his state. It's not something he's entitled to think of.

"I do not enjoy that you are in distress," Thrawn tells him.

While it seems like a simple statement, Eli's sure there's something to work out of it if he tries, but Thrawn shifts his hands before he can. The movement is entirely distracting. The hand that had been on his balls is pulled back up to move along his erection, and the hand that had been moving along him is raised, pressing his body more firmly back against Thrawn's as the Chiss lifts his hand up to Eli's face and commands him to "Lick."

Eli does automatically, running his tongue quickly over palm and fingers. He can taste himself in traces of sweat and the musk of arousal. With his own state so evident, so pressing, is it right to be concerned with Thrawn's? Absolutely, to his mind, but perhaps he's the only one of them that feels that way.

He doesn't have more time to examine the thought. Thrawn moves his hand away from Eli's face and back to his erection, moving the one there up around his waist again. This time Eli can deal with the positioning; without Thrawn's arm supporting him he wouldn't be surprised if he collapsed. The hand on his dick isn't noticeably slicker from Eli's lick, but Thrawn moves it quickly enough to reduce Eli to loud gasps that he can't think clearly enough to consider concealing. His building orgasm drowns out everything but the sensation of that firm grip moving along him.

It starts in his balls and flows out from there. He gives a groan that serves as much warning as announcement and ejaculates with enough force that it lands ahead of rather than on him. Thrawn strokes him through the pulses and shudders, loosening his grip just before it would turn painful on the overstimulated flesh. 

Eli feels his entire body go lax. He can breathe, softly, but for a moment that's all he's capable of.

The hand still cupping him moves away. The movement is slow and almost lingering, but he doesn't have it in him to be concerned with that or anything. 

He comes back to himself in waves. First an awareness of the body he's supported by that surpasses the hedonistic. Then the awareness of his own state, the softening and oversensitivity of his spent penis, the released tension through what feels like every one of his muscles, the comedown after hormonal overbalance. Then the stomach-tightening realization of what has just happened and the accounting of boundaries crossed.

He could, perhaps, manage to never, ever speak of having had that hand on him, but he's going to remember it. He's going to remember the helpless sounds he'd made, and he's going to have to look Thrawn in the face, to receive commands from him over what remains of the course of his career, knowing that he'll remember them too.

He's going to have to find a way to deal with being the aide of someone who's not only seen but felt him in that state. Or he's not going to have to find a way to deal with that, and that option is somehow worse despite how fervently he'd once wished for another career path.

He can feel his breath pick up again. Thrawn is still holding him close, arm tight over his stomach even though Eli can stand on his own now. He starts to struggle against the grip, wondering why, as much as anything, Thrawn isn't pushing him away.

"Let go," he says.

"You would collapse if I were to-" 

"Let me go," he repeats, only slightly more slowly but very, very clearly.

The arm over his stomach loosens and he finds his knees giving out unexpectedly. It's back around him, holding him close again, before he can fully process what went wrong.

"Regulate your breathing," he hears from far too close over his shoulder.

He tries. Even now he does exactly as Thrawn demands.

He breathes, counting through inhale and exhale. He starts to be able to feel his limbs properly again, with enough precision to control them.

Thrawn lets him go, moving back so that Eli can stand on his own.

He needs to say something. Or, something needs to be said. It doesn't need to be by him; he's not sure what it is.

Silently, hunching away from Thrawn, he tucks himself back in and fixes his uniform as best he can with shaking hands.

He can feel his breath picking up again even as he tries to control it.

This is terrible. It's best to just acknowledge it. Clear the air, state concerns, get Thrawn to tell him how they go on from here because Thrawn will have some solution Eli couldn't foresee that will solve everything. 

What he says, when he opens his mouth, is, "You could have carried me."

He hears no response from Thrawn, so he turns back to stare at him. "You could have carried me. You can take my weight. If I'd taken the sedatives and slowed enough, you could have carried me."

"Perhaps," Thrawn says, not hesitating but giving the word a moment to sink in. Eli can tell from his tone that he means to continue. "If the sedatives had slowed you, that would be a possibility. If the packaging had not been heat-resealed to give the illusion of security, I would have considered it. I do not know whether sabotage was intended or whether the raiders' supplier was simply selling diluted or counterfeit goods. The sedatives were not secure. I was not willing to risk the consequences of you taking them if they had been tampered with. Nor did I imagine convincing you that the risk was too high would be an effective use of time."

That's that then, and now Eli has thrown out a hint of accusation and had it thoroughly debunked. Thrawn is right, it's logical, he'd even accurately predicted what Eli's response would have been, because he would have argued for it. It's no wonder the packaging skipped his notice if the tampering was good enough to fool the raiders.

Thrawn looks unruffled. Composed. As though something momentous that changes everything hasn't just happened.

Eli wants to ruffle him, a little. He wants some sort of response beyond the logical. 

He swallows. "This can't be undone. You get that, right? This changes things, even when we're back on ship. I'm not- this isn't going in a report. I don't know what goes on between the Chiss, but this kind of thing-" he breaks off, makes a vague gesture, realizes he's using the hand he had at one point intended to grope Thrawn with and finds his face heating further, "it's unacceptable here. Politically, it's explosive." There are, Eli is sure, officers who could get away with this and worse, but Thrawn and Eli aren't amongst them. Moreover, if this is some surprising aspect of a cultural clash, Eli needs Thrawn to know that Eli doesn't have whatever inclination to respond to it that Thrawn might expect. 

"I do understand that." His tone marks it as a complete statement, but he opens his mouth again before Eli can respond. "I have found your assistance invaluable in many areas. I desire for our association to continue." Thrawn inclines his head, as if he's about to share a secret, "All shared experiences change relationships; a dynamic can be irrevocably altered by the simplest casual interaction. The more intimate an experience is, the greater an alteration it is likely to produce. Such changes may be influential enough to redirect the path or form of a connection. Understanding and reacting to redirections may present a challenge, but it is through meeting challenges that growth is attained. The changes produced need not be negative even when unexpected, no matter how great an upheaval they cause. Experiences of this nature add potentially volatile complexities to associations, but I am confident that you and I are capable of navigating these complexities productively."

The strangest part of the impromptu lecture is that it does soothe some of Eli's worries. Not all of them by any means, and it probably should produce more – and likely will when he looks back to dwell on it – but he's come to learn that all that's really needed for success is for Thrawn to see a path forward. 

"No one can know," he clarifies, because surely Thrawn realizes that, but he has to be _perfectly_ sure Thrawn realizes it. "No one can know this happened. Like I said, politically, it's bad." He can deal with it – they can deal with it – personally, but if anyone else found out then neither of their careers would survive the scandal. _That_ is not what he wants to be known for, and Thrawn deserves far, far better.

"I accept those terms."

Eli almost protests Thrawn's phrasing – they're not terms, he's not making a personal demand, he's explaining how things have to be – but decides to leave it. He's starting to feel energized again, the way he did when they first entered the field, and he can make an educated guess about what that means.

"You may wish to continue this discussion while moving," Thrawn interrupts his thoughts. "We have no reason to suspect that your reaction won't build again."

There it is again, another statement that strikes Eli as Thrawn having just slightly more knowledge and forethought than he should if he really were ignorant of the effects of the Yndos. 

Eli floods with shame the moment after the thought enters his mind. No, that's not what it is, what it is is clearly Thrawn applying knowledge of human, or perhaps Chiss, refractory periods and concluding that, since they're still surrounded by the source of the problem, it will reoccur. Thrawn is trying to keep them from dawdling there; as far as Eli can see that's every indication against him wanting to repeat the experience, which further indicates that he hadn't wanted to be in this situation at all.

Thrawn turns back along their path and Eli trails after him.

"I'm sorry that you needed to do that," he says, empathy rather than apology, because of course Thrawn didn't know or want anything to do with any of this and he can't have found the experience any more comfortable than Eli has. 

"I did not find it a hardship to assist you in this."

Eli doesn't know what to say to that, so he says nothing. It's the wrong response, of course, but it's better than any of the other wrong responses.

They can't be more than a third of the way through the field and he can feel his arousal building again. He can't be sure whether this second wave is coming on more quickly or whether he's simply more aware of what the signs mean now. Either way, what's over is only the first round. There is going to be a second, and if Thrawn wants Eli to believe that he doesn't mind helping him through it, he'll accept that for now. Dwelling on the alternative can only make his inevitable arousal that much worse.

The next big revelation hits him abruptly, his thoughts suddenly making the connection before darting away and then back again in shock. He stumbles with it, for a moment, and loses his breath for an even longer one, but doesn't fall back. If Thrawn had been repulsed by the thought of touching Eli, he wouldn't have had to. Even if he hadn't been willing to move away from Eli for whatever reason, he could have commanded Eli to touch himself and he would have done it gladly. Being touched may have been quicker, perhaps more efficient, but the difference surely wouldn't have been that great. 

There's far more to untangle there than Eli is capable of thinking through at the moment, but he doesn't think it's only his arousal that makes the theory seem not only reasonable but likely. 

They move forward. Eli keeps pace even as his thoughts scatter again. They get more and more disjointed, but more open too. He considers possibilities he hasn't let himself think of before. He considers what he might want, if given the chance to have it.

He can't deny that his thoughts are being influenced by his arousal – it's important to acknowledge that they are – but he starts thinking about whether worrying about protocol or distance or deniability is worth the effort, at least right here and right now when Thrawn clearly isn't concerned with any of them.

He knows that whatever he should or shouldn't do, the field still stretches on far ahead of them. Whether it's this time or the next, he'll have the opportunity to put his more daring thoughts into action. He tries to remember that consequences exist, and that what he thinks he wants right now might not be anything he'd entertain in other circumstances, but as his arousal increases each and every thought and possibility only seems more and more appealing. He can only hope that he won't be swamped with regret once they've left these plants behind.

He wonders whether this time, when it gets to be too much and Thrawn reaches out to help him again, he should reach back. He looks forward, at Thrawn and the path that stretches ahead of them, and admits that his uncertainty is not over whether he should, but how he will.


End file.
